Facets
by JosephineLL
Summary: Well, you don't know me. No you don't know the one, who dreams of you at night, and longs to kiss your lips, and longs to hold you tight. Oh I'm just a friend. That's all I've ever been. Cause you don't know me. Ray Charles - TuckerSato
1. Chapter One

**Title:** Facets  
**Author:** Josephine  
**Email:** **Rating:** PG-13  
**Category:** Romance  
**Codes:** Tu/S, others  
**Summary:** Well, you don't know me.  
No you don't know the one  
Who dreams of you at night;  
And longs to kiss your lips  
And longs to hold you tight  
Oh I'm just a friend.  
That's all I've ever been.  
Cause you don't know me. – Ray Charles

**A/N: **This takes place the Halloween before the episode 4.4, 'Borderland', and then during 4., 'The Observer Effect'.

* * *

Looking around the mess hall and its garish orange and black decorations, T'Pol stiffened her already ramrod straight spine, barely suppressing a sigh. She knew about Halloween from her research into Earth culture and her time in San Francisco, however knowing and understanding were two distinctly separate concepts.

"Enjoying yourself, T'Pol?"

With a start, T'Pol came back from her memories of San Francisco to find a rather haphazardly put together pirate smiling down at her.

"As much as I ever do, Captain."

Archer laughed, and ran an eye over her 'costume'. "I'm glad you decided to join in."

"They are merely Vulcan meditation robes; Ensign Sato assured me that they would be adequate."

"They are," confirmed Archer, then broke off at the flurry of activity on the other side of the room. "Ah, the auction's starting."

T'Pol suppressed another sigh.

* * *

"You bidding or being bid on, Mal?" Trip glanced over at the smaller man dressed in full MACO battle gear, wondering if he had lost a bet with Major Hayes.

"I had thought only to bid, if that," Malcolm murmured back, "however…"

Following Malcolm's eyes, Trip saw a few of the female MACOs eying the security officer with something definitely more than approval. He grinned at the cluster, and to their credit they grinned right back.

The bang of a makeshift gavel drew everyone's attention to the far end of the mess hall where the quartermaster, Master Sergeant Fotter, stood by a low cargo crate. He was made up as a vampire- all black clothes, a pale face, and long eyeteeth.

"We'll get started if everyone is ready?" he asked the crowd, but looked only at the captain. Getting a nod, Fotter continued. "As we all know, this auction is to raise money for Starfleet's Veterans' Fund. And as we're all going to be vets one day, the more you give, the more you'll get back." A wave of laughter went through the room at his words, and Fotter smiled, his fangs a weird juxtaposition with the good-natured expression.

"Some ground rules first." He glanced around the room until everyone had fallen silent. "Some participants come with dinner or another kind activity already. Others are more open, but that does not include any kind of hanky panky."

A few mock groans were heard, stifled quickly though as Archer cleared his throat.

"Let's get going." Waving the first 'victim' forward, Fotter waited as Travis stepped on top of the crate. He was dressed in his rock climbing gear, and as he settled the straps and ropes around him, a faint sigh went up from a number of the young and not so young crew.

"Ensign Mayweather comes with a rock climbing lesson at the next shore leave." Fotter consulted his notes. "And yes, it also includes a free visit to Sickbay."

Laughing at the joke and the chagrined look on Travis' face with the rest of the crew, Trip heard a deep chuckle nearby. He turned, seeing Phlox standing behind him, and stepped back to join the doctor.

"Does it really come with that?"

"Indeed it does. I almost had to insist on it," Phlox assured him. "I want to thank you, Commander," he added, "for helping me with my costume."

"You're more than welcome. It… looks good on you." Trip smiled, trying not to break out in too big of a grin. Phlox was dressed as a cowboy, but more like Gene Autry than Clint Eastwood. Fringe, beading, and every other cliché had been eagerly used.

A loud bang brought their attention back to the auction. "Sold to Lieutenant Bedwell for two hundred fifty credits!" A medium height woman dressed like a cat came over to Travis. She had a mixed expression of triumph and disbelief at her good luck on her heart shaped face.

To Trip's surprise Malcolm jumped up on the crate next, legs planted wide, arms crossed over his chest, a look of challenge tossed over at the women MACOs.

"Our next entry," Fotter smoothly segued, as if Crewman Shand wasn't in the background wondering why he wasn't next, "is well known to all of us. Our Chief of Security, Lieutenant Reed. This is one of the open auctions; you'll have to figure out what to do with him once you've got him. I'll start the bidding at fifty credits."

The bidding was steady, Malcolm occasionally glancing over at the MACOs with that infuriating smirk of his. No matter who else bid, one would always top it, often taking her time doing so. She had the last word though, and Fotter brought down the gavel with a 'Sold! For six hundred thirty credits to Captain Miller'.

Claire Miller sauntered over to Malcolm, who jumped nimbly off the crate. The two soldiers just stared each other down, Trip nearly laughing at the posturing. Then Miller grinned, and jerked her head toward the buffet tables. With a nod, Malcolm followed.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Trip wandered the room, talking to people, idly eating the buffet offerings, only half paying attention to the auction as it wound down. At least until Fotter broke through the post auction chatter.

"We have a late entry," he called out, as everyone turned back to him. Movement in the shadows behind the Master Sergeant drew all eyes, and a large, massive, **green** man dressed in not much leather stepped forward.

Trip's brows shot up- they were supposed to bet on this? Then his jaw dropped as the man yanked slightly on a chain in his hand, and a woman followed him out of the gloom.

Not just any woman. This exquisite creature had long, tousled black hair, up-turned black eyes surrounded by thick lashes, and a luscious red mouth. Her lithe body was covered in even less leather than her companion's; only a few strategically placed straps that looked like they would succumb to the call of gravity in an instant covered her. It was her skin, though, that drew attention, a lighter, more delicate color than the man's, an almost leaf green to his darker forest green.

"An Orion slave girl," Trip whispered to himself. He had heard of these women, hell, who hadn't, but he had never seen one. Watching, mesmerized, he gaped like a schoolboy as she accepted the hand of her guard, mounting the crate with a swing of her hips to stand defiantly before them all, as if she wasn't wearing a collar with a chain, as if she wasn't there to be sold. A small thread of recognition tugged at Trip, he knew she had to be one of the crew, but he couldn't place her.

"Umm, yes, well, shall I start the bidding at fifty credits?" Fotter managed to get out. The woman glanced at him through her lashes and smiled, and to his embarrassment the older man actually blushed.

"Do I hear fifty? Anyone want to give me fifty?" The room was still, only the amused shifting of most of the women and a few of the men at the stunned looks on their crewmates faces.

"No one wants to bid fifty?" The slave girl pouted at the crowd, sighing deeply.

"Hundred," Major Hayes croaked.

She smiled sweetly at the MACO, prompting someone else to shout 'Two hundred' and the auction took off. Trip could only stare at her as the offers went higher and higher, the woman flirting outrageously with all the bidders.

Nine hundred, fourteen hundred, two thousand… Trip snapped out of his trance with a strident "Five thousand!".

The good-natured ribbing by those who weren't participating stopped instantly at his bid, and everyone turned to look at Trip. He, however, was still staring at the slave girl, who was looking back in shock.

"Five thousand," he repeated, chin up, his look stubborn.

"Five thousand," Fotter echoed. "I have five thousand going once, going twice… sold, to Commander Tucker for five thousand."

In the dead silence the guard reached out to the woman, who absent-mindedly accepted his help down off the crate. The crowd parted before him as he led the woman to Trip, placing the light chain in his hand. Trip just looked at it a moment, then followed the dull gray links to the collar at the neck, then up to her smiling face.

"Now what?" he managed to get out, still stunned that he had made that incredible bid, and won her.

"Now, dinner. And after…" She let the suggestion hang in the air between them. Trip wondered at her accent, soft, and lilting, with a strange inflection on the vowels.

"Dinner? Here?"

Laughing, she shook her head, and Trip smiled at the sweet sound. "Your cabin?" She phrased it as a question, but it was more a statement of fact.

He nodded. Anything she'd suggest he'd agree to. "My cabin's fine."

"Meet me there in ten minutes." Trip nodded again, and she slowly peeled his fingers out of the fist he had made around the chain. The rattle brought him back, and frowned.

"Take it off," he told her companion. The man reached for the chain, but Trip stopped him. "The collar too."

The man paused, then waited as the woman moved the silk curtain of her hair aside so he could unlock the collar from the back. She arched her neck as the thick leather piece came off, running her hand over the slim column of her neck. Giving Trip a small smile of thanks, she tuned and walked out of the mess hall, followed by her guard and everyone's eyes.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Wasn't that Sergeant Wilkson?"

Malcolm turned back to Claire as the doors slid shut on the swaying hips of the slave girl. The muted hiss seemed to break the spell she had over the crew, all except Trip, who was staring as if in a daze at the far side of the room.

Malcolm tried to remember what she had said. "Excuse me?"

"Wasn't that Sergeant Wilkson?" Claire repeated slowly and good-humoredly.

"I think it was," answered Malcolm, attempting to recall the hulking guard. "How did he get his skin that color? It wasn't paint."

"Dolichos concentrate," Phlox piped up. "It's a sea plant from Argrotis IV. Very nutritious, a liter will supply all your dietary needs for the day. In large, or concentrated doses, it turns your skin green. I don't think the Sergeant will be eating for the next few days," the doctor added with a chuckle.

"Really." Malcolm digested this information as Claire hid a grin behind her hand. "Who was the lady?"

Pursing his mouth, Phlox looked up at the ceiling before shaking his head. "You figured out Sergeant Wilkson by yourself, but I'm afraid I must keep the lady's identity a secret."

"It shouldn't be too hard to figure her out," Claire said logically. "Whoever's green tomorrow."

Phlox remained silent on that, and Malcolm glanced around the room to find Trip still looking at the door, now with a puzzled expression. Excusing himself from his companions, he went over to stand next to Trip.

"Commander?"

"Who is she? I know I know her somehow…" Trip trailed off.

"Are you going? It's been ten minutes."

"What?" Blinking at Malcolm, Trip looked at him like had had never seen him before.

"She said to meet her in your cabin in ten minutes."

"Right!" Trip took off, leaving a very amused Malcolm in his wake.

* * *

Trip paused before his cabin door, his hand reached out to enter his security code. Instead, he rang the chime, and waited.

The door slid open, the woman's companion filling the frame. Trip wasn't a short man by any means, but he still had to look up to meet the hostile gaze leveled at him.

"Let him in, Benin." Her voice was soft and chiding from within the room, and Trip felt his pulse begin to race at the sound. A low, annoyed rumble came up from Benin, but he moved aside, and Trip stepped into what he had thought was his cabin.

Half of the room had been draped in fabric, the material's muted jewel tones made richer by the flickering candlelight coming from the far wall, and two serviceable place settings graced his worktop.

The woman sauntered toward him; nothing had changed about her, but in this light, in this setting, knowing she was there for him changed her in Trip's eyes. She seemed even more exotic somehow, and the slight likeness to someone he thought he knew had disappeared.

"You may go, Benin. I know you have your own duties to attend to." The slave girl and her guard stared each other down, but in the end he gave way to the slighter woman, leaving with a curt nod of his head.

"Own duties?" Trip asked, only half-curious. The green skinned witch in front of him captured nearly all of his attention.

The woman shrugged, and ran a hand over his chest, smiling at the feel of the hard muscles under the thin shirt. "I'd rather not talk about him." Lifting her eyes to Trip, he fell into their dark depths, forgetting all about Benin and where he was going.

She glanced over at the partially open bathroom door, and Trip noticed clouds of steam rolling out of it. "I started a shower for you," she said, "why don't you get out of this silly costume and hop in. When you're done we'll eat." The woman peeped up at him through her lashes again, and her teeth came out to close over her lower lip as she sighed and dropped her eyes. Trip felt like he had been stripped with that one sweeping glance.

Hopping on one foot and then the other, he quickly shed the boots, pants, and shirt as the slave girl helped. The feel of her slim fingers over his skin drove him on, and he almost tore the material off himself trying to get away from her arousing touch.

Trip had just started to take off his boxers before he remembered where he was and whom he was with, specifically his cabin and a fellow crewmate. Giving the woman a sheepish grin he ducked into the sauna like bathroom and then into the stall.

The shower was hot, just how he liked it, and as he scrubbed himself down Trip wondered how the woman had known. Although, most people liked a hot shower, he rationalized as his skin became pink from the inattentive scrubbing and the near boiling water.

Thoughts of her lead to remembering how she had looked when she fist stepped on the cargo crate, and in the candlelight when her guard moved aside, which led to the way her hands had felt on his skin just a moment ago. With a muffled curse at himself, Trip turned the hot water off and the cold to full blast, standing under the frigid spray until his body had backed off, albeit reluctantly.


	4. Chapter Four

Wiping the accumulated moisture off the bathroom mirror, Trip looked himself in the eye, a stern expression on his face.

"You remember who you are and who she is," he admonished himself as he wrapped the towel around his lean hips. "No funny stuff. You're an officer and a gentleman, and she… she deserves your respect." Trip nodded, his resolve steel.

Until her voice floated through the half-opened door. "Are you finished?" It held a touch of amusement, and Trip groaned, banging his head gently against the mirror.

"Yeah, be right there," he called out; scrubbing a hand towel over his wet hair, Trip glanced around, wondering what he was going to wear. Spotting a pair of trousers and a shirt on the towel rack he knew weren't there when he hopped in the shower, Trip picked up the pale cream clothes and glanced at the door. When had she put them there? How much had she seen? Even though he was fully familiar with the translucency of the shower stall, Trip's eyes automatically slid over to the glass walls as a frisson both unease and thrill went through him.

Pulling off the towel and slipping the pants on, he realized the material was a soft, well-worn cotton, and incredibly comfortable. As he buttoned the top, for a brief second Trip wondered if the woman would let him keep the outfit. He looked dammed good in it, if he did say so himself…

Laughing at the absurdity, Trip opened the bathroom door to find the cabin lights dimmed and that the slave girl had changed from her leathers to a short, gold- shot, diaphanous shift that exposed and concealed tantalizing hints of her body as she moved.

"Feel better?" He could only nod as she came up to him and combed her fingers through his damp hair, taming the mess he had made with the towel. "Come and eat then."

The woman tugged on his hand, leading Trip the short distance to his worktop where a small dinner had been served on the plates. "Lamb with honey and almonds, marinated eggplant and tomato salad, and flatbread. And wine, of course."

"Of course," Trip echoed, sitting down and picking up a curiously shaped two-pronged fork. He speared a piece of the lamb at her smiling urges, and almost moaned in delight at the sweet, tender taste.

"This is good," he mumbled around a second crunchy mouthful, watching as the woman daintily broke off a wedge of the flat bread and placed a spoonful of the eggplant mixture on it. "Like this?" He ripped a chunk off and did the same.

"Perfectly," she assured him. Trip only hesitated a moment, but the lamb was delicious, so he bite right in. "It's good too." A warm tingly feeling surged through him at her delighted smile, and he grabbed for his wineglass and gulped down a fruity mouthful so he wouldn't have to think about it too much.

* * *

"… and that, darling, is why you should never get into a drinking contest with Malcolm Reed."

The woman's soft, amused laughter washed over Trip, and he smiled, happy and content. Everything had come together to make an absolutely incredible evening: the food, the wine, the setting, the music, the clothes, but most of all, the beautiful woman curled up next to him. They had been sitting on the floor for the past hour, leaning against his bunk as they finished the wine.

He stared at her, noticing again, or maybe for the first time, the deep dark pools of her eyes, the sweet curve of her mouth as she smiled at him. Trip felt the mood suddenly shift, to something more intense, and the slave girl must have felt it to as her smile faltered, and her eyes dropped.

"I must go."

The cold shower Trip had put himself through had nothing over the chill that went through him at her words. His protest died before it was born, however, as she gracefully got to her feet. Sitting, understanding why but not wanting her to go, he watched as the woman efficiently packed the remains of their dinner away in a small tote.

Finished, she came and knelt beside him. "Good bye, Trip." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek as she squeezed his hand that wasn't holding the wineglass. Standing, she picked up the tote and left.

"G'bye, darling," he whispered back.


	5. Chapter Five

_Epilogue_

Death.

As many times as Hoshi had imagined dying, and in the early months on board Enterprise she had imagined it a lot, dying in the decontamination chamber was, actually, one of them.

Picking up some alien disease, quarantined in the small blue room, dying either a fast or slow death, painful or not. Usually slow and painful.

Just like now.

At least Trip was with her.

Well, not exactly. If she had to die with anyone, she was glad it was Trip, but on the other hand she didn't want him to die at all.

Hoshi glanced over at Trip as he sat by her, eyes closed, breathing fast and shallow. Her thoughts went, as they usually did when she looked at him in an unguarded moment, to the evening she had spent with him as an Orion slave girl. Happy thoughts. Maybe that would help with the pain.

Death.

Confessions.

Wasn't one supposed to make a clean breast of things as one lay dying? Hoshi wondered what Trip would think if she told him she was the one who had been the Orion slave girl. Would he believe her? She had seen his face as she had stepped on top of the crate, he had never looked at her anyway remotely like that before or since.

Suddenly it was important to Hoshi that he know it was her.

"Trip?" Her voice was no higher than a whisper, raspy and dry, but he heard her.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember the Orion slave girl you won at the Halloween auction?"

Trip chuckled, a weak sound that was quickly cut off. "Don't think I'll ever forget her."

"There's something I want to tell you about her." Closing her eyes, Hoshi turned away. Not seeing him would make it easier.

"I know it was you, Hosh." His tone, which could have been amused or mocking, was neither.

"Oh." He knew. Well at least she didn't have to actually come out and say it.

Wait. Trip knew? And he hadn't said anything? That night, which had been so wondrous to her, now was as tawdry and meaningless as it seemed to have been for him.

Mortified, Hoshi didn't know weather to rage or weep at him when he started talking again.

"It took me a while, but I kept coming back to you. Once I was sure, I was amazed I didn't see it before."

Hoshi felt a strong, hot hand cover her own. That his fever was getting worse registered in a small part of her mind as the rest of her enjoyed the comfort his touch brought.

"I hadn't said anything before, 'cause, well, I had made a fool of myself over T'Pol, and I wanted to prove I wasn't just jumping from girl to girl."

Forcing her eyes open, she looked back over at Trip to find those blue eyes looking back, and a sweet smile on his face. He let go of her hand to lift his arm over her head, and she took the invitation, sliding over to nestle against him as his arm came down around her shoulders.

"When we get out of here," he said, special emphasis on the 'when', "we'll do that night over again, but this time you don't have to leave. And it'll be my turn to eat some of that seaweed stuff."

Hoshi laughed and gave him a weak hug. "Dolichos concentrate tastes awful. I like you just the way you are. But you can wear the outfit," she added slyly.


End file.
